


Complete

by randomwriter57



Series: Sormik Week 2017 [5]
Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post-Canon, endgame spoilers obviously, mentions of berseria canon, romantic or platonic either reading is fine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 09:14:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11620521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomwriter57/pseuds/randomwriter57
Summary: Awakening is not how he expected it to be.





	Complete

**Author's Note:**

> Warning! Spoilers for the end of the game!
> 
> I know everybody and their mothers have written post-canon sormik reunions already, but I kind of wanted to write Sorey waking up from his POV. As my fics tend to do, it got a bit out of hand ^^" I've added a few references to Tales of Berseria, mostly a headcanon of mine as to where that place in the epilogue might be. None of the Berseria references should be spoilery, since they're a bit vague. There's also a reference to [a guidebook thing to do with Eizen](http://aurantia-ignis.tumblr.com/post/157339425213/world-guidance-after-berseria) (spoilers in the link).
> 
> Written for [Sormik Week 2017](http://sormikweek.tumblr.com), day five - Lohgrin: Truth/Time.

Awakening is not how he expected it to be. Then again, how could it be? In his human years, so many times had he opened his eyes to a new day, filled with leftover feelings from dreams and physical states of awake-or-tiredness. In all honesty, there should not be an expected way to awaken from his slumber; only an opening of the eyes, and the start of a new day.

(To be fair, he didn’t have enough time to fully contemplate waking up. When he planned, he thought only of falling asleep, dreamless and focused, and then later being awake once more. The process itself never struck him as interesting.

Until now, that is.)

His awakening is oddly gradual, for a start. It’s almost like the mornings when he would wake up in a limbo, halfway between sleep and dreams and still unsure of what is real and not. How many times did he hear someone call his name, only to think it was in his dreams when in reality he was being awoken?

This sensation is similar. His touch returns first - the cool rock beneath his body, the warm beat of the earthpulse, the tickle of flowers against his face. Though his entire body is enveloped in some kind of barrier of heat, he still feels the brush of the wind and the cascade of raindrops.

His hearing comes next. Through his sleep, he has heard only the voice of Maotelus, imparting upon him the stories of this world’s past, and how the present came to be. But now, on occasion, he will hear a new voice - people speaking to him, telling him stories of their own, offering prayers. He does not know these people - can only hear their words, tries to grasp them only to find them slipping through his grasp - but he always listens to them.

The return of taste is the most uncomfortable, if only for the dryness of his mouth. He has not drank water in so long, can feel his lips crying for moisture, a desert. This would be fine, if it only returned just as he was about to awaken, rather than a while before then.

In any case, he is lucky, for time passes quickly in sleep.

The final stage of his awakening begins with sight, though he does not open his eyes. Rather, it is the colour of light which captures his attention; the warm glow of the aura surrounding him, the slow rise and fall of the sun each day. His favourite sight is the flashes of light which accompany deep, crushing booms of sound every so often, when the rain drops streak down his face and he can feel the earth thudding in his veins.

Even then, it is only when his final sense returns that he truly awakens.

In one moment, unlike the last, he takes a deep, shuddering breath through his nose; he smells subtle flowers and fresh grass and clean air, unlike anything he can recall breathing in for so, so long. Rather than a necessary action, this is more of a subconscious habit, but he does not regret the new aromas which fill his brain.

With all five senses returned to him once more, they begin to uncover. The warmth wrapped around him slowly peels itself away, a blanket torn from his grasp like an alarm. He hears the sound of another, as though they are yawning, and sometimes, speaking. His tongue licks his dry lips, tastes the barren field of skin.

Finally, with a deep breath, he opens his eyes.

And it all comes back to him.

For a newborn seraph, he realises later, he is incredibly lucky in that he forgets almost none of his old life. This is most likely due to Maotelus, who spent so long making sure he would not forget. He is truly grateful, not only because he can remember the hardships and pain he experienced, but he can also remember the people he was with at the time, if only as fuzzy shapes and half-heard voices.

Two of these figures stand out to him. One he knows is dead - the pain still thrums in his heart, ever-aching. The other should still be alive, and it is his figure which he gravitates toward the most. It is his true name which threatens to spill from the tip of his tongue, though he has not yet spoken a single word.

Blinking, he allows his brain to process his surroundings. He lies where he fell so long ago, in the depths of a ruined shrine, overtaken by nature in the many years which have passed since then. His resting place is within a deep chasm, but intrinsically he knows he will find a way out.

Above him, Maotelus’ soft silver glows in the dawn sunrise. He too has awoken, finally purified and able to bless the continent on his own.

“You are awake,” Maotelus says, his voice a tremble amongst the sound of silence. “And your work is complete. Thank you.”

He gazes up at the white dragon, a thousand questions flooding his mind. He need not speak any of them, for Maotelus answers regardless.

“It has been many centuries since you fell asleep, and so your original body passed on long ago. You have been reborn as a seraph. This, of course, means you no longer bear the Shepherd’s burden.”

Looking down at himself, he sees the traditional cloak still draped over his shoulders, still intact even centuries later. Though it still fits him physically, it doesn’t feel right to continue wearing it now. He pulls it over his head, folding it neatly and placing it on the ground before Maotelus. His eyes catch sight of his hands as he does so, the single fingerless glove bearing the Shepherd’s symbol standing out to him. This, however, he does not remove. It feels as much a part of him as his body itself, now.

Then, he pushes himself onto his feet. It takes a moment to find his balance, but when he does, he stands tall, gazing up at Maotelus with a smile.

“Go on and find your dream, Sorey.”

And so he does.

 

* * *

 

Returning to the outside world is more difficult than Sorey imagined it would be. Even after he climbs out of the depths of his resting place and hikes through the ruins of the shrine and the village of Camlann, it takes a lot of time to emerge from the Mabinogio Ruins into the cool breeze of the mountaintops. The sight of the expansive blue sky makes the trip worth it, though, especially when he sees the familiar sight of his hometown in the distance, looking the same as ever, even after all this time.

Still, he does not know where to go from here. He knows that he must search for that one person - can feel a deep longing pulling him in that direction. But he knows not where to find him without asking for information. He doesn’t particularly want to make his awakening known to the people of Elysia, though. Not until that one person knows he is back.

Hence, Sorey bypasses Elysia, stopping only to pay tribute to a small pile of rocks on the coast outside the village, a grave marked with a gold-tinged pipe. He allows the pain to simmer in his memories, but does not dwell on it. After all, he knows that was his only choice.

The Aroundight Forest remains under a blessed domain, and so is free of hellions. This makes his journey much easier as he traverses along familiar routes, allowing his feet to carry him on even as day turns to night turns to day once more. As a seraph, he does not need as much rest or sustenance now as he once did.

(That doesn’t mean he doesn’t take breaks, of course. He knows better than to push his body when it has not exercised for so long.)

In only two days, he reaches Lakehaven Heights. Immediately he can tell the purification has worked - the hellions he comes across are few and far between, and the air is fresh with life. Standing on lookout rock, he can feel the air’s purity, can see the clarity of the lake in the distance, surrounding that age-old town where he once first found human society.

How much will they have changed, he wonders?

As he passes the river, he catches sight of his reflection on its surface. His hair is still in its short style, though now the brown tresses are tinged with golden tips. Part of him wants to see it fully grown, though he knows that will most likely only happen once he grows stronger as a seraph. Feathered earrings remain in their usual place on either side of his head, and his clothes remain as they were on his last day as a human, save for the removal of his cloak. When he looks closely, his green eyes seem to have a hint of gold within them, though it is hard to tell in the river’s rushing surface.

He has changed only from becoming a seraph; Will that person have changed, too? They have surely grown stronger, after all. He wants to see how they have grown.

For now, though, he makes his way to Ladylake. He needs to find a lead, after all.

 

* * *

 

In a city filled with people, Sorey passes almost unnoticed. Despite the purification of himself and Maotelus, it seems the people still tend to have little to no resonance. The most recognition he finds is confused stares of people who have brushed against him, only to brush it off as an illusion.

Still, Sorey is not worried. He’s more interested in the city itself. Since his last visit, the city has grown even larger, the centre now filled with all sorts of new technology he’s never seen before. Yet, he also finds hints of recognition - the great waterwheel continues to turn, and his feet naturally take him towards the Sanctuary where his journey began so long ago.

He knows there is someone he must speak to, within the Sanctuary. Perhaps she will know where the person he seeks might be.

Inside, the Sanctuary has barely changed. Blue drapes still decorate the pillars, and a glittering sword lies within its altar, untouched.

In front of the altar sits the one he seeks: a seraph adorned in red and white, her long silver hair flowing behind her. She does not notice him entering, seemingly lost in her thoughts.

Like all those years ago, and yet so different from back then, he slowly approaches her, his footsteps silent even in the tall building. He does not say a word until he is only feet away from where she sits.

“Lailah,” he says, the name a flame in his core.

The seraph looks up at him, eyes wide with familiarity. She gasps. “It can’t be… Sorey?”

He smiles at her, somehow feeling unnecessarily nervous. “It’s nice to finally see you again.”

Lailah jumps up from her seat, wrapping her arms tightly around him. The familiar comfort of her presence soothes his nerves.

“Sorey, I can’t believe you’re really back,” she says, stepping away from him. Her eyes glimmer with the hint of a tear, yet unshed. “Everything went well?”

“Yes,” he says. “How about everything on your end? Are you still the Prime Lord for the current Shepherd?”

“No, I am currently working as Lord of the Land here in Ladylake,” Lailah says. “Do you remember Uno, the previous Lord of the Land? He took over for me once Rose stepped down.”

“Rose?” The name is all too familiar, tinged with a bittersweet emotion. “She became a Shepherd?”

Lailah nods, her expression softening in sadness. “She wanted to help the world as best she could, and help your dream to live on.”

“I see.” Sorey takes a moment of silence, mentally thanking Rose and praying for her peaceful rest. He then looks up, remembering his first squire. “Was Alisha able to fulfil her dream too?”

“Yes. She was a fine example to the people of Hyland. Her actions paved the way for a peace between Hyland and Rolance which has lasted exceptionally well over the past centuries.”

Centuries. It’s inevitable, then, that Sorey would never see his human friends again. Still, he smiles through his sadness. Hearing that they were both able to achieve their dreams and make progress towards the peace they all yearned for is enough to make him feel happy for them. He might not have known them long, but to have known them at all is a blessing, he thinks.

Noticing his mood, Lailah says, “Would you like to see her?”

Sorey picks up on her meaning and nods. “I want to pay my respects, and to thank her.”

Luckily for both of them, Alisha’s resting place lies behind the Sanctuary, in a closed cemetery reserved only for the royal family. They pass the guards easily, their footsteps silent as they approach a clean grave in the back of the cemetery. Though her claim to the throne was far, and she never ascended to it in her lifetime, her grave is remarkably well-kept. The writing on it is clear enough to read, even after centuries.

_Here lies_

_Alisha Diphda_

_Princess of Hyland_

Her birth and death dates indicate that she had a long life, which makes Sorey smile. A moment later, however, he can’t help his intake of breath, noticing messier writing carved lower down on the stone.

_Melphis Amekia_

_Isylvia Amekia_

The first name is all too familiar, pulling the strings on his heart in nostalgia. The second is less familiar, though its meaning rings clear in his head.

“Isylvia Amekia?” he says.

“When Rose accepted Alisha as her Squire, that is the true name she gave her.” Lailah kneels before the grave, placing a carefully-folded paper flower on the mound of dirt at the base of the stone. “Rose is the one who carved these words as a dedication to her.”

Sorey smiles, tracing the letters with his fingertip. He can only imagine the situation which might have prompted Rose to give her a name like that, and the conversations which followed.

They stay a few minutes longer in the graveyard, accompanied by the sound of birds singing, trees rustling, the aqueducts flowing. The breeze is light and calming against his skin.

Eventually, he stands. “I should be going.”

Lailah looks up at him and nods, following his lead and standing. “You must have many more places to go, after all.”

“I do.”

The pair return to the Sanctuary, back to where they met all so long ago, in front of the altar. It’s almost hard to believe how much has changed since then, and how much things have stayed the same.

For whatever reason, Sorey’s never been the best at goodbyes. He understands why people leave, and can accept it easily. But that doesn’t change how much it can hurt, sometimes. He never really knows what to tell someone if he’s the one leaving.

Before he can think of anything to tell Lailah, she speaks.

“I heard a rumour that there is an age-old ruin on an island in the south. Apparently seraphim often go there due to its age. It’s only become more accessible recently.”

At first, Sorey is surprised at the suddenness of her words. However, then he gets an idea of a certain seraph he may find there. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to check it out.”

“Then I wish you the best of luck on your journey,” she tells him. “Please, come back anytime.”

“I will,” Sorey says, giving her a final wave goodbye before heading to the door of the Sanctuary.

In his wake, Lailah whispers, “And with Mikleo, of course.”

 

* * *

 

Upon leaving Ladylake, Sorey decides to head south - or rather, as south as he can until he reaches a port. Both Lakehaven Heights and Falkewin Hillside are yet surrounded by mountains, and so when he reaches the latter area, he knows he will need to venture into Rolance before he can find a way south.

But before he goes that way, it would feel wrong to leave without paying his respects on a certain mountain. Especially considering the stories told to him by Maotelus during his slumber.

Rayfalke Spiritcrest remains an intimidating mountain, spiking up into the sky in dangerous pikes, unchanged even after all these years. Memories flood his brain of inexperienced ascents, searching not for the danger at the peak, but for aid found halfway up. With any luck, he may have another encounter with that aid.

He only reaches the small stone grave at the base of the mountain before he feels a wave of familiar energy - a domain. This one, however, does not hold the malevolence he once associated with this mountain’s draconic resident. Rather, this is a blessing which feels familiar, almost like the pulse of blood in his veins.

She’s still here, somewhere.

Sorey continues past the grave, ascending the beaten mountain track. He doesn’t encounter a single hellion on his way, something which he puts down to the seraph’s strong domain, paired with the blessing of Maotelus which spans the continent.

It is only as a small shrine comes into view, not far up the mountain, that he sees the source of this domain. Standing near to the shrine, her back facing Sorey, is a girl twirling a familiar laced umbrella, still decorated with an orange normin plushie.

(Or at least, he hopes it’s a plushie this time.)

To say ‘girl’ is perhaps an understatement, for now she appears to be a little taller, a little older than when Sorey saw her last. He supposes that is what the passage of centuries will do to you, even as a seraph.

(Is this the result of their saving Eizen, he wonders?)

When he is a few feet away, she speaks. “You could have warned me before showing up out of the blue, you know.”

There it is - the sarcastic tone he knows all too well, one which is laced with a hint of fondness.

“Nice to see you too, Edna.”

Edna turns around, her blonde hair falling around her shoulders, longer than when he last saw her. Her outfit is mostly similar, though her dress looks a little different in style. It’s difficult to tell, especially after so long of not seeing her. Still, her face is the same as ever.

“So you’re really awake,” she says under her breath.

“I am,” Sorey says, smiling. “Longest nap I’ve had in a while.”

Rolling her eyes, Edna twirls her umbrella in a lethargic circle. “You’ve kept a lot of people waiting, you know.”

“I know.” At the very least, he’s glad he kept his promise before going to sleep. He sends a knowing look to the spike of the mountain. Even if he had waited until his awakening to save Eizen, he wouldn’t have been able to do it, in the end. Not using the one solution they had found to save him. “Sorry.”

“What for?” Edna raises an eyebrow, before turning without waiting for an answer. She begins walking up the mountain, boot-clad feet steady against the rocks. When Sorey doesn’t follow, she looks at him over her shoulder. “Well? You coming?”

A smile coming to his lips, Sorey follows her.

Neither of them speak a word as they ascend the mountain. It isn’t that they don’t want to speak, but it would feel wrong, for Sorey at least, to allow important conversations to pass by in idle movement. Besides, there are things he thinks Eizen might like to hear, too.

Once they reach the cold peak of the mountain, they both sit down in front of the makeshift grave they set up for him so long ago. The base is piled with flowers and souvenirs, some of which he recognises, others newer additions.

“Eizen,” says Edna. “You have a visitor.”

Sorey feels a little foolish as he greets the pile of rocks. “Hi, Eizen.”

Edna glances over to him, obviously waiting for him to speak.

Putting aside his feelings, he returns his gaze to the rocks. “You only ever got to meet me when you were already gone, so I’ll introduce myself. I’m Sorey, and I travelled with Edna for a while, back when I was human.” He pauses, swallowing a lump in his throat. “I promised her I’d help to save you, but the only way I could do that was this. I’m sorry for that.”

Beside him, Edna lets out a shaky breath, no doubt remembering her own internal struggle, having to help kill her own brother in order to save him.

“But after that, I spoke with Maotelus,” Sorey says. This catches Edna’s attention, and her gaze is steady. “He told me everything about when you travelled with him, many centuries ago. Probably a couple of millennia, by now. Now, I think I understand better. You didn’t turn into a dragon without thinking, or for selfish reasons. You did everything you could to make sure your little sister would be safe, when it happened. You changed to stop a great evil in this world.”

“Eizen,” Edna breathes, her voice cracking.

“I hope only that you are resting peacefully. And don’t worry about Edna - she’s resilient.” He gives her a sideways smile, though it fades when he sees the wet layer on her eyes.

He lets a moment of silence pass, allowing her to gather her emotions once more.

Then, he asks, “You knew, didn’t you?”

Edna nods, her eyes glued to her brother’s grave. “The gauntlet - the Divine Artifact we used to armatize. That was Eizen’s, when he was a Sub Lord. Zaveid gave it to me when Eizen came home. I only heard the full story a few hundred years ago.”

“Oh.”

The wind howls as it passes them, yet neither moves. They simply sit together in silence, each of their thoughts directed towards the man whose grave they sat before.

Then, almost too suddenly, the feeling passed, replaced by the amicability which defined their friendship so long ago.

“You’re a seraph now,” Edna says, her gaze moving from his hair to his eyes.

“Sure am,” Sorey says, scratching the back of his head. “I’m not sure which type, though.”

Edna only shrugs. “You’ll figure it out. But now you’re a baby seraph. Even more of a baby than wee baby Meebo. Weebo.”

Sorey can’t help but laugh, the sound echoing in the air around them. “I guess that’s true!”

A small smile crosses Edna’s face, and she looks out over the edge of the mountain. “He was lonely, you know.”

“I know.” His smile softens as he sees the hidden emotions in her eyes. Somehow he gets the feeling that she isn’t talking only about someone else now. “Have you been up here by yourself all this time?”

“No. I travelled with Rose for a while, then by myself. I stuck with Meebo for a few years, too.” She gently touches one of the items in front of the grave - a small hair comb. “But I always come back here.”

“I guess it is your home, after all.”

She glances over at him, eyes calculating, before shrugging. “I guess.”

They stay together for a while longer, talking idly of times long past, until the sun begins to dip beneath the horizon, and Edna finally stands.

Taking the hint, Sorey follows her down the mountain once more, until they’re back in front of the shrine, which glows in the evening light.

“It was nice seeing you again,” he tells her. “I’ll be sure to come by again on my way back.”

“Don’t let me keep you from your heartfelt reunion,” Edna says, though the corners of her lips tug upwards.

As Sorey heads to the base of the mountain once more, she watches from her perch, eyes not leaving his form until she can no longer feel his presence in her domain. Then, and only then, does she proceed back up the mountain once more, trying to ignore how oddly lonely it feels, not to have someone by her side.

 

* * *

 

The days pass quickly when he travels. It feels like only a few days before he reaches Lastonbell, though it must have been over a week, judging by the cycles of the moon. The town is just as lively as he remembers, and his only regret is not being able to spend more time revisiting the places where his heart is drawn to.

He must hurry, though. He doesn’t want to arrive at the ruins too late.

Except the good weather begins to turn as he makes his way through the Meadow of Triumph. Just as he gazes up at the familiar towers, still standing despite how strangely they were built, the wind picks up. With it comes a shower of rain, soaking him to the bone in a matter of minutes. His first instinct is to rush to find shelter, but there are not many places which can provide that, in such an open area. Thus he is forced to continue trekking through the muddy field, hoping that the rain will soon come to an end.

And eventually, it does, but only once he reaches the edge of Pearloats Pasture. Centuries after the Age of Chaos which ruined its harvest, it looks like the pasture is filled with bountiful crops once more. Tall fields of wheat surround him, almost taller than he himself. Were it not for that, and for the rushing wind pushing the crops to the side, he might not have spotted that head of white, bobbing above the field. Though he can tell immediately that this is not the one whom he is seeking, he continues towards this person regardless, feeling a familiarity radiating from them.

The moment the person turns around, he knows why.

“Yo, Sheps!” Zaveid grins at Sorey, ever cocky and confident, though his eyes glimmer with a kind of happiness which isn’t usually expressed so clearly on his face. It feels like nothing about him has changed, and for that Sorey can’t help but feel a little bit grateful. “It’s been a while.”

From what he remembers, he and Zaveid did not get on so well when he was a human. After the tragic loss of Dezel, however, he remembers getting to understand Zaveid better. Now, he can’t help but return Zaveid’s happiness at seeing him once again.

“It’s great to see you, Zaveid. What are you doing here?”

“I felt something on the wind, so I followed it,” he answers cryptically. “And I’m on my way to see a certain somebody on a mountain. It’s coming up to 800 years, you know.”

Sorey gasps at the number. Though he’d known it had been a long time since he fell asleep, he hadn’t known that almost eight centuries had passed. “It’s been 800 years since Eizen died? You kept count?”

Zaveid shrugs. “Hard not to keep track of things like that, y’know.”

The words bring to mind a memory of one of Maotelus’ stories, one involving Zaveid’s own past from long ago. He wonders if Zaveid has always been the type to keep track of that kind of thing, ever since his own loss from so long ago.

“’Course, it’s easier to keep track when you know someone’s coming back,” he says, ruffling Sorey’s already messy hair then grimacing at his now damp palm. He wipes it on his trousers.

Has that person been keeping track, too? Sorey trusts that he hasn’t been moping about it, and has been carrying on their dream. Still, it pains him to think of how lonely it must have been, at least at first. They had always been together, after all.

But that person is strong. He has faith that he carried on, and is still doing so.

“Hey, do you know where the nearest port is?” he asks.

Zaveid blinks and looks around, as if trying to coordinate himself geographically. “There’s one near Pendrago, I think. Go further west and you might find it.”

“Thanks! I’ll try that.”

With a final smile, Zaveid moves to walk past Sorey, only to clasp his hand on his shoulder at the last minute.

“You did a good job,” he says. Without waiting for a reply, he moves on through the field, going back the way Sorey came.

Gazing after him, Sorey thanks him under his breath. Then he continues.

 

* * *

 

Zaveid’s directions are surprisingly accurate. It takes only a couple more days for him to find the port town once he bypasses Pendrago. It’s a small port town, one which has only been put into use once more in more recent times, since all travel outside Glenwood was impossible during the Age of Chaos. Through some sneaky eavesdropping he manages to find a boat heading to the southern isles, and hops on it just before it sets sail.

The journey is an uneventful one, save for Sorey’s awe at being surrounded on all sides by a vast field of blue water. He spends a day simply staring at the waves, watching them roll by, occasionally startled by the appearance of fish or other sea creatures. The second and third days he spends lounging and reading books left alone by the human passengers on the boat, and the fourth he spends in anticipation of their docking at the port in a small ocean town named Yseult.

Apparently the town had once thrived, its population almost as large as that of a few of the cities in modern Glenwood. Of course, Sorey knows from Maotelus the truth of what happened on this isle. Luckily it is free of malevolence when he sets foot there, and he has no trouble in heading through the town towards the beaches which lead towards the ruins.

Of course, it’s a long walk. Sorey has never been troubled by long walks, but the heat and the beach environment make even him a little uncomfortable after a few hours. Still, he perseveres, trying to keep himself occupied by imagining how this island was two milennia ago, before it was overcome by malevolence. The wildlife which he sees seems completely different to that which Maotelus described in his stories - he doesn’t see a single pengyon, blue flightless birds which were once popular amongst tourists.

In any case, he eventually reaches the ruined village of Haria, which has not yet been repopulated, though he can see it happening soon if it’s anything like Yseult. He doesn’t spend long there, choosing only to rest for a single night before continuing down the beach towards the ruins he seeks.

The trek is long and somewhat arduous, but eventually he spots the marble towers of an ancient ruin, half sunken into the ocean. The entrance is still clear and easily accessible. What’s more, there’s a single set of footprints in the sand leading towards it.

It must be him.

Sorey follows those footprints into the ruin of Palamides, tracing the path taken by many in the past, and by one only a short time ago. As much as he wants to linger in each room, examining every part of the ruin, he forces himself to go on without exploration - he wants to reunite with that person as soon as he can, after all.

After passing through a few rooms with tall chalices (an ancient puzzle, perhaps?) he reaches a set of stairs leading into a small, circular room. His steps are silent as he descends into the room, halting as he reaches the final step.

At the head of the room, standing before a stone monument, is a figure he knows all too well and yet who has changed remarkably. His white hair now flows behind him in a ponytail, draping down over his capes. Though his outfit has changed, he still holds a staff, still holds himself with the same elegance.

This is the person he’s longed to see for so long.

And yet, he is frozen to the spot. He can’t think of what to do, what to say. All he can do is wet his dry lips and watch as that person lifts a gloved hand to touch a glowing blue gem, embedded into the monument.

_‘Wait, isn’t that a trap?!’_

Sorey rushes forward just as the ground breaks beneath Mikleo’s feet.

And at the last second, he catches him.

When their eyes meet, Mikleo smiles, his expression filling Sorey with a warmth he has not felt for centuries. It is as he pulls Mikleo out of the depths, catching him as he topples into his arms, that he realises.

For the first time in centuries, he feels complete.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me [@luzrofrulay](http://twitter.com/luzrofrulay) on twitter / [@luzrof-rulay](http://luzrof-rulay.tumblr.com) on tumblr for more Tales Of ramblings | [@randomactuallywrites-57](http://randomactuallywrites-57.tumblr.com) on tumblr for more writing!


End file.
